Quiet
by NubianQueen413
Summary: Marik really does prefer Bakura when he's quiet. But somehow he can't find it in himself to really mind.


Author: NubianQueen413  
Title: Quiet  
Character(s): Marik, Bakura  
Word Count: 1083  
Author's Note: Yes, I _am_ alive. Some of you might remember this story, I added some, took away some, and I'm quite happy with the finished product.  
Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh and all of it characters are property of Kazuki Takahashi-sensei, Nubi-chan is merely borrowing the characters for her amusement and to the characters' displeasure.

* * *

The blonde chuckled lowly under his breath, bemused as the faux albino seated next to him launched into another one of his patented "destroy-the-pharaoh-and-take-over-the-world plans". Not only do they never work (an amusement at best), but Bakura had the innate and amazing ability to ramble on and on, and half the time he managed to travel right off of the subject all together.. 

So as usual, Marik tried humoring Bakura, blocking out all sound that was trying to reach his ears while still managing to look attentive --a very difficult feat I might add-- as violet eyes glancing about Ryou's living room, wondering how the hell he got stuck with the tomb robber.

"Are you even listening to me?" Bakura asked suspiciously, narrowing auburn eyes as he debated on what he was going to bitch Marik out for this time; the fact that he had not been paying attention, or the piss poor job he did at hiding his obvious lack of focus.

"Yes, Bakura." Marik stated with as much honesty as he could muster, lying out of his ass and not feeling one ounce of shame. Besides, if it got Bakura of his "destroying-the-world" trip, who was he to complain?

It's not that didn't like Bakura's voice, he did, though he's pretty sure anyone could get used to a voice if the owner of the said voice stuck around you like a parasite. Though, to Bakura's credit, Marik will admit that any contact made between the time of Battle City and the time of their friendship (and he still wasn't sure how that had occured) was purely for the intent of decapitating him, but such details _can_ be overlooked.

Honestly, Marik liked Bakura's voice. It carried so many different qualities that the former avenger had come to appreciate. Like how it became strong and determined when ever he was taking about avenging Kuru Eruna, and how the tone got softer and somewhat gentler in that rare moment when he comforted Ryou after a particularly bad nightmare. And even when his voice carried an almost insane lilt whenever he talked specifically about the Pharaoh, Mariku didn't really mind so much, granted that it wasn't for an extended period of time.

There were many things about Bakura that Marik decided he didn't mind so much (Malik explained to him once that dealing with another's quirks was a part of being friends). Many things about Bakura that he could relate to himself, which, in retrospect made him stand out from everyone else.

Bakura hated being watched. He mentioned once that it made his skin crawl, the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and his fingers itch to spill blood. Marik understood, the last time he had that feeling he ended up dead and fed to the shadows. So Marik really couldn't blame him -- pot calling the kettle black or some shit like that.

Though regardless of the yami's feelings, Marik would watch him, the most memorable being the one day when he crashing on Bakura's couch, nursing a wicked hang over, one amethyst eye lazily cracked open as he feigned sleep. It was early, about 3 a.m. so it was still dark outside, something that must have contributed to the uncharacteristic moment that he wasn't sure he was supposed to be witnessing.

Bakura was singing.

And to Marik's utter surprise he was enjoying it, there was something about that soft tenor voice drifting gently through the room, seranading the shadows in a language long dead.

It made Marik think of blue silk and warm arms, it made Marik think of sweet laughter and a mouth kissing away the tears on his young boyish face...it reminded Marik of home.

Marik didn't mind.

And sometimes, on the more lonely nights, nights when the memory of spices and kohl became too much to bear, he would grab a pack of beers, drinking a few on the way before he makes himself stumble into an all too familar house filled with both modern and ancient memories,

But not now.

Now Bakura was using his Pharaoh voice, and he was starting to royally piss him off; squirrels were _not_ carnivores! Absently he wished Bakura would shut up.

"Marik!" Bakura barked (though Marik thought it sounded suspiciously like a whine), hitting the blonde lightly over the head as he continued. "You weren't listening!"  
Marik winced; maybe it would have been wiser to just listen. But as Bakura gets off the couch and saunters into the kitchen, he thinks that he sacrifice was not without its rewards.

But in less than five minutes the former thief strode back in again, taking a seat back on the couch, opening a bag of chips, scowling playfully when Marik reached over to snatch a few.

"So are you going to listen to me now or what?" Bakura asked, not actually caring if Marik ignored him or not, he supposed that years of living on his own in a desert contributed to his narcissm and love of his own voice (not that Bakura thought it was a negative point in his personality).

Marik nodded once and that was all the confirmation he needed to begin, as well as enough to tell Bakura that the blonde sitting opposite from him would most definitely not be listening.

"Asshole." Bakura stated matter-of-factly, rolling his eyes as he settled back into the couch, _silently_ eating his potato chips.

Marik flipped him off. "Sit and spin slut."

"After you dickwad." Bakura shot back.

"Ladies and effeminate albinos first."

"I'll kill you."

And the next thing Marik knew, Bakura had tackled him and they landed on the floor, a mass of limbs and wild hair, laughter resounding through the relatively small room.

The wrestling match that ensued was loud, loud with Bakura's whoop of victory and Marik's indignant obscenities; pulling earrings was _so_ cheating.

"Damn you..." Marik muttered under his breath, arms crossed as he sat Indian style on the floor, refusing to meet Bakura's eyes.

Bakura chuckled --"Whatever loser."-- and flopped back on the couch, dragging Marik up to sit with him as he resumed eating his chips.

_This isn't so bad,_ Marik admitted begrudgingly, _at least he's quiet...and I guess what was kind of fun._

"Anyway," Bakura started, "like I was saying, that asshole Pharaoh would never have a chance..."

And at this point Marik completely tuned Bakura out.

_Bastard._

And Marik smiled.


End file.
